Undenied
by Sabriel41
Summary: In the time between washing pint glasses and pouring a Mako Sunrise, she faces beginnings and endings and the man who won't let her walk away. [TifaReno, of sorts.]


**Undenied**

. o .

She was almost at the point of telling him to take his knowing smirk and his black coat that he always slung over her counter and _go_.

Tifa was willing to give the redhead a chance, but two months of this was a little much. Reno had practically become a regular to the new Seventh Heaven-slash-Strife's Delivery Service, and while they didn't talk often, the third bar stool had become _his, _somewhere along the line. She knew that he – even he – wouldn't try anything in a place like this; Cloud was still hanging around, and the others had a funny way of stepping in every so often. And truth be told, he was a paying customer, and not a bad one. Reno's sly observations of the other patrons were scathing but often made her smile, and he always left a decent tip. Never too large - they both knew that she could be a rich woman if she wanted to, but this was her life, these were her choices. This was her normalcy.

And considering that her last memory of formalwear involved an abduction (hers), crossdressing (Cloud's) and at least one threat involving castration (memory was playing tricks with her but she could have sworn those words were uttered by Aeris), the jet-set lifestyle and its requisite code of fancy dress were in no way appealing. Not that he had ever dressed well, but the smile that curved his lips was full of promise and it scared her, so she put away the last shot glass onto the rack and spoke.

"I break the people who love me. I thought you should know." The words were out of Tifa's mouth before she could think better of them. Before she could shove them back in. But he kept smiling, more a smirk, a quirk, than a smile. _At least he isn't backing away. At least he isn't saying that I'm not some crazy sort of black widow._ _Not that he would_, she thought; _metaphors aren't his style_. _I'm talking with the wrong person if I want metaphors or platitudes._

Tifa didn't have time to dwell on it. The girl down the bar wanted a Mako Sunrise, and although Tifa was grateful for the distraction – was that amusement she saw in his eyes? – she cringed as she layered the liqueurs. Sunrises hit like a semi truck, despite being the prettiest drink she could mix with a straight face.

Tifa dropped off the drink with a careful smile and then found herself wandering back to Reno. _Which is, _she thought, _starting to look like the story of my life_.

He was nursing a glass that might be holding an Old Fashioned. She wasn't sure; he'd had more than a few tonight, and she thought – _hoped_ – that she wasn't paying close enough attention to know for sure. Bartenders remember details, it was just part of the trade, but he had been trouble in a six-foot frame since the first time their eyes had met, and Tifa'd had more than her share of trouble to know to stay far away from him.

A pity that her best intentions never seemed to work – he pulled like a magnet and he never let her just walk away.

"You still won't look at me straight," Reno sighed. "I'm no goody-two-shoes, but I'm not gonna drop you where you stand, Lockheart. Lockheart… _hah_." His chuckle was low as he twirled his glass on the bar top, half-melted ice cubes clinking together.

Though she was almost certain of what he was about to say, there had always been something almost masochistic in the air every time they were around each other. So she went for the bait. "What's so funny?"

"Lock-heart," he drawled, emphasizing the individual syllables. "But it's on your sleeve. Always has been, probably always will be if you haven't knocked it back in by now, hey. Maybe that's your problem."

"I wasn't aware," she replied icily, "that I _had_ one."

Reno snorted, plunking his drink down against the bartop with a satisfying clink. "Denial and bullshitting should be left to the experts, babe."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Everyone," he replied, downing the last of the tawny mix of alcohol and soda with a gulp, "who chooses to stay in this hellhole of a city has a problem, Tifa. Your particular problem is a little more tangible than the average. Yeah. That's it."

"If this is about Cloud, you can stop talking or start leaving, _Reno_. It's been a long night." Pacing down the bar to collect a group of pint glasses, Tifa cast a careful look over her shoulder to see if her words had had any effect on the redhead.

If his elbows on the counter and his indolent wink were anything to go by, her words had the opposite effect.

"Ya know," he said the next time she came close enough to talk to, "I never really got you. I mean, you were always kinda Rude's girl." As Tifa looked up from washing the pint glasses, Reno laughed and added, "nah, not really, but I never got his crush on you 'til now. Rude's always been the one who tried ta fix things – chairs and tables in the Turk lounge, or sometimes he'd bring in these stray mutts and get them checked up, then foist them on unsuspecting pencil pushers who he knew could give 'em a good home. He trains the rookies going through trauma and shit. And he's good at it too, Lockheart. Rude could've been a doctor or something. I'd bet my last gil note on it."

Biting at her lower lip, Tifa scrubbed the last glass particularly hard. "So," she replied, trying to keep her voice even, "I was some sort of potential _project_ to that partner of yours?"

"Nah," Reno answered. "Don't think it was anything that easy. You were a puzzle, Lockheart, what with bein' tough as nails but with one hell of a history. Say," he added, pushing his glass towards her as she dried her hands with a towel, "another'd be good around now. This one's getting watery, babe."

Taking the glass, she frowned. "_Tifa,_ if you must."

"'Babe' sounds about right," Reno smirked. "I don't mean nothing much by it. It just looks like you need someone to remind you that you are one hell of a gorgeous woman, 'stead of being trapped here with the winos and the brats you take care of all the time. Hell, you didn't even sound like yourself when I called to ask for Strife's help. Rude was visiting Laney and Tseng, so it fell to me, and since I figured you couldn't beat me black and blue over the phone, I did. I didn't expect you to be so nice, though…"

She caught her breath a little – she had been kind, open, a little flirtatious (_of course I remember you. How could I forget you?_ had remained unsaid), but, _but – _"You were work," Tifa muttered. "I couldn't be mean to you, could I?" She frowned as she said it and as she turned, one of his hands snapped out and grabbed the back of her vest.

"_Hey."_

"Let go of me, or I swear…"

He laughed. "You swear nothing. I – _we_ – weren't just work to you or to Strife, Tifa. I'll let you go if you turn around, face me like an adult, and admit it." Reno's voice slowed as he continued. "Look, like I said, I'm not here to kill you. Strife took our deal and one of your kids damn near lobotomized me through the nose last month for tryin' to save him, so don't I deserve a little bit of credit?"

"You have obviously had too many to drink," she replied, still facing away from him, hoping he couldn't sense her smile.

"Nah," he drawled. "Just enough to see things clearly and speak 'em just as clearly."

She could _feel_ his smirk and shook her head at his incorrigibility, his free hand drumming an impatient beat on the bar as the hand that still held the hem of her vest twisted it absently. His knuckles brushed the small of her back and she started at the contact, spinning around to glare. "It's a pity you can't find your way through the door as clearly as you should."

"Maybe if you came with, I could manage it a little easier."

Propping one of her elbows on the bar, Tifa leaned forward. "That sounded an awful lot like you were asking me out, Turk."

He mirrored her movement, his eyes catching and challenging hers. "And if I was?"

Tifa drew back slightly. "I would have to think about it, I think."

"Think faster," he murmured, and his hands were in her hair and _this was not the way this was supposed to be_ and they were in public, couldn't he see that? His smile said clearly that yes, he knew precisely where they were, but before she could pull away or retaliate, she caught sight of a familiar shock of blond hair and froze.

Sweeping his hair out of his eyes as he walked into the bar, Cloud Strife was ready to give the shout for last call when his eyes froze at an unexpected sight. He'd become accustomed to seeing the redhead from time to time, and as long as the Turk minded his own business, Cloud had let the past rest for the most part. That didn't mean, however, that said Turk could tie up his house-mate and friend, catching her hair between his fingers and looking at her like some - some bloody _innocent._

He knew that Tifa could fight her own battles, and he knew all too well that separating her from her wannabe suitor would only put the stars he'd worked so hard to shake out of her eyes when she looked at him right back _in._ But she didn't look comfortable with the situation, and whatever else she was – or wasn't – she was his friend.

Before Cloud could walk over to the pair, a flash of crimson materialized behind Reno and settled a golden hand on the redhead's shoulder. Hard. _Cloud_ winced. Those claws were sharp, and as his eyes met Vincent's, he knew that the other man knew it. Still, like it or not, Cloud had to give Reno some credit. Even outnumbered, the Turk was irritatingly calm.

"Take off your claws, would'ya, Vince? The lady and I were just talking."

If Reno's tone was cool, Vincent's was glacial. "Remove your hands from her hair, and I might consider your request."

Cloud sighed once he saw the glare that Tifa sent both men: the tried and true _I-can-fight-my-own-battles-thank-you-and-screw-off_. It was a patented Look, Cloud was certain, and if it wasn't it had a right to be. Between the twist of her lips and the spark in her eyes… Vincent and Reno were just being ridiculous, the both of them. Tifa had two fists, probably hadn't had her coffee fix today and most importantly, they should have known better. Tifa was sweet and giving and lovely, sure, but she was a right Shiva when she hadn't had her caffeine. _Cloud_ knew that from experience, and looked around for a route that wouldn't make his retreat look cowardly. Despite his best attempts, Cloud's search was met with no luck. A young girl (who was certainly up past her bedtime, but Cloud had never been much of a stickler for rules) blocked his sole escape route.

"Hi, Cloud," Marlene piped up. "Here for the fight?"

"Wha –?" Spinning to following the girl's gesture, Cloud chuckled. "Nah." He paused, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a smile. "Um. Actually, yeah, sure. Do you have any sandbags to duck behind, 'Lennie?"

The brunette shook her head and matched his grin. "With friends like you and Pop've got, I'd need more than sandbags!" She looked over at Reno, who _had_ returned his hands to the counter, and beamed. "Hey, he's different."

Both Cloud and the trio under examination turned to Marlene.

"Some people can't change," Tifa spoke in a near-whisper, ignoring the pain that flashed across Reno's face. Turning to face the redhead across the bar, she pulled away. "And some you can't forgive what they've done."

"I only followed orders, Lockheart. I lost people too, y'know." Green eyes were unusually solemn as they looked back at her. "We all did terrible things to survive. Even you Hero Boys can't say that you didn't."

Cloud and Vincent's heads lowered slightly.

Reno was right, though, Marlene realized, and so was she. He didn't scare her anymore. The Turk that he had been had been lost… not entirely, because she could see memory in his eyes, sparking and glinting like shattered glass - beautiful and just as sharp. But his eyes lacked the raw hunger that had frightened her so much as a child. "He's right, Teefie."

Tifa's answer was deliberately slow. "I don't think I can forgive him, Marlene. Jessie, Biggs, Wedge… this man, he as good as put a gun up to their heads and fired."

Marlene only smiled and shifted her eyes to Vincent. "Mmhmm," she replied, gesturing towards the gunman. "But you helped _him_, and you all forgave the cat-man for not being who he said he was. Maybe, Teefie, Reno deserves the same chance."

Looking from cautious crimson eyes to skeptical blue that she knew as well as her own, to fiercely fragile green, Tifa nodded slowly. "Maybe..."

Her answer wasn't a yes or a no; it wasn't anything definite. But as she found herself smiling at her friends and catching the surprised slant of Reno's smile in return, she thought that maybe it could be a start.

_. o ._

_( ...in truth I only really wanted to be wanted by you )_

_. o ._

_.finis._

_. o ._

_**Sabe's Scribbles:**_ These characters still aren't mine, more's the pity. The story itself was written as a gift for **hobovelez** on LJ, and was inspired by "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight" by the Postal Service and by "The Rat within the Grain" by Damien Rice (which the endquote is excerpted from.) I hope you enjoyed it!


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